


His Merlin

by babywarg (morphaileffect)



Series: Ironstrange Bingo [5]
Category: Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Gap Filler, Gen, M/M, Short, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 18:16:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18287648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphaileffect/pseuds/babywarg
Summary: As a child, Tony imagined himself a Knight of the Round Table. Little did he know he would grow up to be a king. And that he would have a wizard by his side to lead him to either glory or destruction.





	His Merlin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ironstrange bingo square “Infinity War.”
> 
> Mainly gen, leaves room for M/M, however: Tony/Stephen...and Tony/Steve if you squint.
> 
> I have an obnoxious, undying love for subtle.

As a child, Tony dreamed of being a knight.

\- an old-school knight. Not the nerdy kind that he read about on the papers. Not the kind that wouldn’t know how to hold a broadsword, if their life depended on it.

(Someday, he would grow up and ask the Queen of England for a knighthood out of sheer impudence...at the age of nine, however, his idea of “knighthood” was very, very different.)

The knight he dreamed about being, was the kind that sat at King Arthur’s Round Table.

With the sword and the horse and the armor.

His horse would _have_ armor. It would be armor he made himself, of course. And, as a knight himself, the armor he wore would stand out, because he would have made that, himself, too.

It would be the most powerful armor in the Round Table. It would have rockets. It would be able to fly. It would be able to hold an entire fucking arsenal, and yet not kill the horse that bore it with the weight. It would be made of alloy that could withstand dragonfire.

And, of course, it would be made of iron.

He would be the strongest knight. With him at King Arthur’s court, Camelot would never fall.

He would be Sir Anthony of the Round Table.

He would save the day. Rescue the girl. Inspire others. Bring glory to the kingdom.

And he’d have a camaraderie with his brother knights that was unlike any other. He’d finally have the siblings he never had. The friends he never had.

They would stand up for each other. They’d knock all bullies flat on their backs. They would be looked up to by the rest of the world.

The brotherhood would be all.

 

***

 

He grew up, and forgot all about that dream.

Life had a way of crushing dreams like that.

He was a bully. Everything about his life told him so. He had all the power, wealth, connections to bring every do-gooder in the world to their knees.

Until one day, in spite of everything he had, he was abducted.

And, in spite of everything that was taken away from him, he survived.

One night, many weeks after his impossible escape from a terror cell in Afghanistan, he woke up and realized: he wasn’t a bully.

He was a knight.

An _iron_ knight.

Born to defend the weak, inspire others and avenge the fallen.

He didn’t have a horse with armor - his armor _was_ his horse. It had different names, but it kept him safe, and, at times, acted independently of him.

Fitting for the times, he supposed...and for the kind of enemies he had to fight.

 

***

 

He was always hard pressed to decide on a favorite knight.

But if he _had_ to pick a favorite, then yeah. Sure. Lancelot would be it.

Lancelot, who was upright, pure and misunderstood.

Okay, it was a dick move when Lancelot fell for the king’s wife (in his mind, the revered Guinevere took on the qualities of his mother Maria - don’t @ him), even after having had a kid with Elaine of Corbenic (that poor woman).

But in the end, Lancelot was human. Flawed. Lost. Overburdened by destiny.

Sans the sordid love affairs, young Tony had a heck of a lot to identify with, with him.

But then, later in life, he met someone who fit the bill way more than he did.

No horse, no king, no exciting, romantic love triangle - but with a lonely past, leadership skills and a purpose.

Plus a tragic affair, in essence, with a childhood friend with a metal arm.

His name was Steve Rogers.

Over years of friendship with him, Tony realized: he wasn’t Lancelot, after all.

He was Sir Anthony of no kingdom.

No round table.

No brotherhood.

Being loyal, getting other people’s loyalty, didn’t come easy for him. Loyalty didn’t love him as much as it did Steve Rogers.

Which was fine, he decided.

He didn’t really need anyone.

_“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers, did you know?”_

Especially people who would betray him.

 

***

 

In the stories in young Tony’s head, King Arthur was an afterthought - a vague shadow overseeing everything.

The King never really took shape for him.

Not even after he read TH White’s iconic fanfic - all five volumes of them - which were centered on Arthur.

So he never thought that in his story, the one he was writing for himself, there would ever _be_ a king.

 

***

 

“I don’t agree with one part of your plan.”

“Which part?”

Strange told him.

“Really? But that’s my favorite part,” Tony fake-complained.

Strange was not amused. “I won’t allow you to sacrifice yourself,” he grimly declared.

Tony’s indignance at this was _not_ fake.

“Excuse me? You ‘won’t allow’?” He spread his arms comically. “I’m sorry, when did we ever establish that you were the boss of me?”

He actually enjoyed going on snarkfests with the magician - sorry, _sorcerer_. He came to accept that much when they were on the ship to Titan.

And by this time, when they were all stuck planetside, determined to wait out the arrival of the death sentence named Thanos, he had come to look forward to it as a twisted means of stress relief.

Still, when things mattered, the sorcerer dropped the snark. That was always slightly creepy. Way too similar to how his mom said _“I’m serious, Anthony”_ even as he did his best to make her laugh.

"You can’t afford to be so reckless,” the sorcerer calmly pronounced. “None of us can. But it’s of utmost importance that you make it out of here alive, even if no one else does."

Who even said “of utmost importance” in real life anymore?

Tony sighed, exasperated.

“Let me explain something to you, Doc. This is a _round_ _table_ , okay? No one life is more important than another. Except maybe yours, but that’s just because you’re keeping the Time Stone safe.”

“You are horribly misreading the situation,” Strange started to say...

...but Tony detected a long-ass, convoluted spiel coming soon after that, so he thought it best to interrupt.

“Look,” he said, facing Strange, palms together as if in prayer.  “As I told the kid, this is a one-way ticket. I knew it as soon as I made up my mind to go after you when that alien high priest kidnapped your insensible ass. If it will just take a life - just one life - to make everything safe for everyone again, it might as well be mine.”

"So you’ll just charge in, like a knight in shining armor, ready to die for the cause?” One of Strange’s eyebrows was raised. “In this scenario, Tony, you're no knight. You're the king. And in every story, every game, the king has to stay alive. No matter what."

...Wait a second. When did he start calling him “Tony”? It was “Stark” a little over an hour ago. Before he went on his astral trip where he claimed to have seen 14,000,605 futures.

And why would he call Tony a “king”? What was the possible basis for this?

“This isn’t a game, though,” he replied, matching Strange’s gravity tone for tone. “And if this is a story, this is probably the last story we’ll ever have to tell. We can’t pull our punches here. Don’t tell me I have to live if my _not living_ will solve all our problems.”

A multitude of words appeared to flood the back of the sorcerer’s entrancing, weirdly-colored eyes. Strange took a moment to compose his answer carefully.

“It’s difficult to explain,” he eventually confessed, “but take my word for it, Tony, I’m begging you - soon it’ll be time for the endgame. I urge you to see yourself as a crucial figure here, because you are. Your death will solve nothing. I’ve seen as much. And I will sooner lay down my own life than to see you go before my eyes.”

Those were...perhaps the most romantic words another man had ever said to him. And, to be 100% honest, the snarky sorcerer he’d met just several hours ago wasn’t 100% bad-looking.

Too bad the scenario they were in now wasn’t exactly conducive to romance. The possibility deserved closer examination, at a later time.

“If I’m the king, you’re what...my court wizard?”

“I prefer the term ‘grandmaster’,” was the utterly too serious, mood-killing answer. “But if that’s what you’d rather call someone who won’t leave you unless it was absolutely necessary to do so, and won’t let you self-destruct...then yes. I’m your court wizard.”

An expression of loyalty.

Tony was taken aback, unsure if he should even take it seriously.

“So,” he ventured, “what happened to ‘I will not hesitate to let you die’ and all that?”

Strange sighed loudly.

“I'm out of time to explain. Thanos will be arriving any minute. For lack of viable alternatives, we should go with your plan. I just want to propose some minor changes - changes that will only involve you _not dying_ , and still stick to the main objective - which is to try and get Thanos’ gauntlet, detain that mad, murderous bastard, and return alive to Earth.” He placed his hands on Tony’s shoulders. “Do you trust me?”

Tony imagined that he felt the sorcerer’s grip through the tensile strength of his armor. Then again, it might have been the determination in his eyes, which bore down on Tony’s shoulders like a mountain.

Tony racked his brain: what precedent could he rely on to make a decision?

Did Arthur trust Merlin with everything he had?

His brain told him, _yes._

His heart told him, _without question._

Even when Merlin gave advice that seemed nonsensical. Even when Merlin told him to do terrible things.

Everything, everything that Merlin did, was for the best.

The look in Strange’s eyes was not certain - it was scared. It was continually, mercilessly calculating and recalculating. Tony didn’t see _destiny_ there, so much as he saw the devastating fear of failure.

It didn't exactly give him confidence - but it did give him direction.

He laid his armored palms against the outside of the sorcerer’s arms, hoping his reassurance could be conveyed through the metal.

“I trust you,” he said to his wizard.

_Don’t betray me._


End file.
